Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm schizophrenic, and so am I.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
I'm a schizophrenic writer.
I'm sure I'm a schizophrenic. The problem is I can't tell the difference between which one's which, which one is the real me.
Never get into an argument with a schizophrenic person and say, 'Who do you think you are?'
Please hear this: There are not 'schizophrenics.' There are people with schizophrenia.
My life is part humor, part roses, part thorns.
My style is definitely schizophrenic; it does change from day to day a lot. It depends on my mood: sometimes I'll be going through a girly, childlike stage and wear a pretty lace dress with a bow in my hair. Then sometimes I'll be moody and just wear black.
Schizophrenia demons live in my head.
It's getting harder and harder to differentiate between schizophrenics and people talking on a cell phone. It still brings me up short to walk by somebody who appears to be talking to themselves.
Colours exist for me as entities in themselves, as metaphysical beings.
Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment.
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